Wilt thou forgive that sin where I begun,
John Donne
Twice or thrice had I loved thee,
I have a friend who still believes in heaven.
No spring nor summer Beauty hath such grace
Tho has made me, and shall thy work decay?
As due by many titles I resign
O might those sighs and tears return again
Oh my black soul! now art thou summoned
If poisonous minerals, and if that tree
I am a little world made cunningly
This is my play's last scene, here heavens appoint
At the round earth's imagined corners blow
If faithful souls be alike glorified
Death, be not proud, though some have callèd thee
Spit in my face you Jews, and pierce my side,
Why are we by all creatures waited on?
What if this present were the world's last night?
Oh, to vex me, contraries meet in one:
Wilt thou love God, as he thee? Then digest,
Father, part of his double interest
Since she whom I loved hath paid her last debt
Show me, dear Christ, thy Spouse, so bright and clear.
Go and catch a falling star,
Dear love, for nothing less than thee
Whoever comes to shroud me, do not harm
Upon this Primrose hill,
Take heed of loving me;
Now thou hast loved me one whole day,